


Alone

by outofthevalley



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bondage and Discipline, Gen, Implied Torture, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Stolkholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, dark themes, implied rape, psychostriders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:17:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofthevalley/pseuds/outofthevalley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is John Egbert, and if it wasn't for the dull ache that has spread throughout your body you wouldn't be sure if you're awake or asleep.</p><p>A psychoStriders AU that explores the moments in time where Bro and Dave have to leave John alone at the apartment, and how they've gotten worse over time. Rated M for the disturbing nature of the scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [PsychoStriders AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/26960) by pootatoe. 



> This is set in the psychoStriders AU from tumblr! If you're not familiar with it, I recommend you check out psychostrider.tumblr.com In its most basic form, is about Bro and Dave as crazy hitmen, with John being a boy Dave was stalking before the two decided to fake his death, kidnap him and turn him into basically a pet.
> 
> It’s written in second person from John’s POV, set after he’s been in their care for quite some time, and written based off of my wondering about his time spent alone, so it may not be 100% accurate to the AU.
> 
> Warning: Contains NSFW (mostly just disturbing, not much sexual) and possibly triggering material, as shown in the tags.

Your name is John Egbert, and if it wasn't for the dull ache that has spread throughout your body you wouldn't be sure if you're awake or asleep.

All of your senses have been dulled or blocked completely. In the last few months, life has become so twisted that this is the norm for your time spent alone in the apartment you'll never call home. You try to adjust yourself to stop even a little of the discomfort but are punished when the restraints pinning your arms behind your back only tighten. You try to let out a groan around the gag and decide not to try the same with your equally bound legs.

The absolute quality to the darkness around you shows that they turned the lights of when they left, making the blindfold on your eyes completely unnecessary. An insult, if anything, meant solely to make you feel vulnerable and helpless. It would've worked, you're sure, when you first got here, but you hold your thoughts now, determined to have grown stronger through this and feel nothing but anger and hatred. Your own heart betrays you on this one, though, and more than anything you feel tired. Too tired and sore to sleep, even though it's really the only thing you can do when they're gone.

In an ironic twist of fate, the bonds aren't even there to protect the apartment or anything like that, but to protect _you_. You've tried to escape with the two present enough times to know that there's very little you can do to get out without getting caught mid escape, and that's only if you can actually find the tools to break the door down (God knows you've been too weak and scrawny to break it yourself for a while now, they made sure of that). No, the bonds are there because in this position, the worst you can possibly do to yourself is to hold your breath until you pass out, which you've already done several times in the past and have never managed to get anywhere with. Your body always betrays you the moment your mind blanks out and takes in as much air as it can.

When you were first brought here, the thought of killing yourself hadn't crossed your mind. Why would it have, when you were far too busy being terrified beyond belief that these two psychopaths were going to kill you? Your mind was preoccupied with staying _alive_! Even once the permanence of the situation and all of its horrors had started to sink in, you'd spent much more of your time alternating between attempting to fight off your impossibly strong captors (and earning yourself more pain, but you'd be damned before you were just going to _let_ him lay a hand on you—) and begging to anyone who would listen, offering anything and everything if you could just go home, or just out of here, or just _anything_ , dammit, _please_. It wasn't until you realized that there was really no way you were making it out of here with your life that you'd considered ending it on your own terms.

You had never imagined that this decision would make what was already hell so much worse. 

It had been a simple enough plan. You were barely allowed to do anything, especially alone, so it would be easiest to drown yourself. They had to let you bathe, or even just use the toilet, and once you got yourself to pass out it just took making sure the tub was full enough to keep you breathing water until you were gone. Showering took minutes, and so did drowning, so it wouldn't be too noticeable, either. 

One stray cough was all that it took before the door was thrown open and Bro stepped in, impassive as ever. The shock and panic that followed killed your resolve, and then you couldn't stop coughing, retching up the water you'd managed even as Bro slowly knelt next to you outside the tub. You'd sworn that you'd almost seen a smirk on his face before his hand was patting your back far too hard and his voice was in your ear. 

“Dave sure picked a high maintenance one. Can't even bathe without messin' yourself up. Looks like you'll need help from now on.” 

And you know that he'd known exactly what you'd been up to, because you've never gotten to use the bathroom alone since then, and your punishment afterward had left you dirtier than you'd been before the shower. 

For a time after that, you'd become so determined to kill yourself before this became more real that it already was that you were in a daze. You're almost ashamed of that sometimes now, but you were going crazy at that point, refusing to believe in this reality. The feelings you had and the daily torments had killed your will to live. You still wonder from time to time if death would be easier or better, but right then it was the only option; you just weren't rational anymore. You'd tried anything and everything, even banging your head into the wall in an attempt to break _something_. You'd been rewarded with more pain than you'd been inflicting and no promise of even temporary unconsciousness, and then the ultimate punishment: the elimination of what little privacy you hadn't realized you had, and the fate you were currently resigned to. 

Any time both Bro and Dave are both going to be gone, no matter how long or short, you're first bound so tightly that you can barely shift anything. This is followed by the blindfold, which had come first in the past, but your inability to accept this punishment (or, really, any punishment) without a struggle changed this early on. The gag will barely be in place before you're hoisted over a shoulder and taken to a room, usually Dave or Bro's. One final 'click' means that your collar is attached to the bed frame, and you're barely be able to move your neck as your body aches against the bedroom floor. 

Movement is virtually impossible. Meaningful movement is a dream. Vision is shot, and after some time there isn't enough energy left in you to keep making sound, not to mention no good reason. The low noises and familiar smells all easily fade into the background, and on longer trips (you can never be sure how long they go out, every time feels like forever) your body numbs to feeling as well. Life becomes nothing more than thought, and alone with your thoughts becomes darker than your lack of vision in these times. 

Except now there's something—you pick up the sound of footsteps over a minute before they're anywhere close. The noise is earth shattering, breaking you out of your comatose daze. Your mind clings to it desperately. It's been hours at least, it must have been, maybe even a day, and as familiar and dreadful as those footsteps are you're hanging onto them like a lifeline. All thoughts are gone, there's just wonderful sensation, and you're drinking it in desperately and greedily. 

And now voices are joining the chorus, and it's sickening, the way your heart leaps in both panic and _relief_. You don't want them here, you never want to see either of them again, not ever, but right now your mind is so starved for the outside world that it welcomes the sounds like the excited puppy they seem to wish you were and don't understand why you aren't. 

They're getting closer now, and your mind starts whirling as it finally realizes the new danger. Should you pretend to be asleep? If Dave's the one to untie you, then sometimes he'll be more gentle if he thinks you're sleeping. Bro might take it as anything, really; you're never sure if he'll just make a throw away comment before hoisting you off the ground or if he'll decide that your slumber is disrespectful and shows that you're not excited enough to see them and greet them and he'll have to make you pay for that. Despite all of your time here and how good you've gotten at reading them, you still don't really understand how Bro's mind works, nor do you think you want to. That might be proof that you'll have finally lost it. 

When the door opens, though, you opt not to do anything at all. It's not like there's anything you can do aside from either feign sleep or wait anyway, and your limbs have probably fallen asleep too much to even twitch. You hurt yourself trying earlier. 

The footsteps are heavy and powerful, and even as your heart drops large hands are already unclasping your collar from the post and pulling you by the accessory to your feet. Your body screams its protest, and you hear the pathetic grunt of an equivalent pass through your gag. You can't stand yet, between the bonds and the way your muscles have turned into lead, so it's no surprise when you fall back onto the bed, those same strong hands guiding your descent in a terrible mockery of care. Your legs are hanging off the end of the mattress, and you don't react to the sudden movements apart from simply lying on your back and sinking your teeth into the gag against the pain that accompanies it. In less than a minute, you feel a rush of cold, followed by a mix of warmth and more pain as he loosens the bonds on your lower half and the blood is allowed to flow again. 

You sigh behind the gag, but instantly tense when you're greeted by a low chuckle. “Missed us?” Bro's voice asks in the same way you'd ask an animal, as if you don't expect a response or even understanding. 

You rise to the bait before you can think it over and kick out clumsily with both legs, missing any type of target and half wondering if it's because you can't see him, your legs are responding sloppily, or he dodged. Bad move. You feel hands close around each ankle, pushing your legs apart more roughly than necessary. 

You expect some sort of pain from him for this before he takes off the other binds. It's a given, really. You'd just tried to hit him, after all. You really should have tried lying low for a bit, it was a pretty petty thing to lash out over while he was in such complete control over you, though that might have partially been why you'd felt the need to rebel. The pain doesn't come, however, and instead your legs drop from a sudden lack of support and you feel a tingle of warmth above but not touching you. When he speaks, his breath tickles your ear, and you smell alcohol and bleach. His laugh is harsh. 

“Really gonna play that way already? Well, then, let's keep the rest of those on for a little bit...” 

You feel your blood run cold when the warmth leaves your face, but instead of hearing footsteps and a closing door you feel the hands return to your legs, trailing up your thighs in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. 

“After all, we've got time for a game or two.” 

You wish you were alone with your thoughts again, or at least that he'd take the gag off so that the screams stop strangling you. 

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: In case this confuses anyone, this story used to be published under the name PhoxPhyre, but that's an old screenname of mine, so I updated this to be under my preferred username, outofthevalley. This is the same ao3 account and the same person. :)


End file.
